Collide
by emeraldorchids
Summary: Miranda and Andrea meet by chance at an airport on New Years Eve several years after Andrea's abrupt departure. What will happen when their worlds collide so quickly? COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Started writing this one on NYE in 2013-yup, two years ago. Just rediscovered, and will have the ending posted in a few days. No character death, and I promise it will be updated soon. ;)

* * *

 **COLLIDE**

=== Part One ===

Andrea wanted three things: a glass of wine, a hot shower, and her own bed. In that order. As she made her way through the crowded terminal at La Guardia, she was grateful for traveling light. The line for baggage claim looked horrendous, no doubt due to the growing number of flight delays and cancellations due to winter weather around the country. After spending nearly a week in Ohio with her extended family, she was relieved to be spending a quiet New Year's by herself, in her apartment.

She exited the airport and made her way to the taxi line, and again was grateful to almost be home.

* * *

Miranda was furious. Two days after Christmas, she flew out to Park City with her daughters, where they would spend the latter part of their holiday break. They were in eighth grade at Dalton, and while Miranda knew they would be fine without her, it was a long flight and she wanted to accompany them. She insisted on it, in fact, and the girls did not object. When they landed, they had dinner with James before Miranda said her goodbyes and returned to the airport to catch the redeye flight back to New York. She would be home just after sunrise, and intended to spend most of her day in bed, perhaps making a few notes for the upcoming year's issues.

However, nature didn't comply with her plans. First, her nonstop to New York was cancelled due to a storm on the East coast. She was switched to a flight to Dallas, where she would make a connecting flight home. Then, on the tarmac as they were ready to depart for Dallas, they were delayed another hour to de-ice the wings. She landed in Dallas just past four o'clock in the morning, and the next flight to New York wasn't for another two hours. The rest of her day was spent in airports—first Houston Hobby, then Chicago Midway, and finally, New York La Guardia.

As she stormed off the plane and through the terminal, she called her driver. "What do you mean you're in a _cell phone lot_? That sounds absurd. I will be outside in two minutes… _What?!_ TEN MINUTES? That is unacceptable. Roy, listen, I am here now. No, no—" she sighed and ended the call, marching past the travelers with their luggage and children and strollers and making a beeline for the exit, where she immediately went to the curb to hail a taxi cab.

* * *

Andrea had been waiting in line for about ten minutes. Despite the efficiency of having a line and a boarding area, the number of taxis coming to the airport was not enough to meet the demand, and she shivered as she realized she'd easily have to stand out here for another fifteen minutes at least. She turned and looked around and overheard the teenage boys next to her laughing about some old confused woman who "was probably born before airports existed" as they said. Immediately, Andrea's heart melted at the thought of a poor old woman, and she was such a sucker for helping strangers that she couldn't resist turning to see the woman in question.

When the woman turned around, Andrea was shocked to realize it was none other than Miranda Priestly, wearing what looked like a Burberry scarf tied around her head. The scarf was no doubt to protect her hair from the wind rather than to provide warmth, Andrea thought with a chuckle. She couldn't imagine why the woman would be hailing her own car at an airport, and being the holidays and the fact that it had been a few years since she had spoken to the woman, she stepped out of line to say hello and see if she could help her out.

"Miranda? I thought that was you," Andrea said happily as the editor turned to face her. "Happy New Year."

"Yes, well that is still to be determined," she muttered.

Andrea chuckled. "I am relieved to know you haven't changed one bit."

Miranda stopped and turned to face the young woman. "Andrea, I have been traveling for over thirty-six hours. I am not up for exchanging pleasantries. I just want to go home."

"Understood," Andrea said. "Can I help? Looks like you're trying to hail a cab."

"How astute." Miranda rolled her eyes and stuck her arm out again, waving at the occasional taxi that drove by. "None of these fucking assholes will stop!" she growled as she stepped closer to the street.

"Don't take it personally," Andrea said with a smile. "Airports don't allow hailing cabs. They have a taxi line to keep it organized; next cab to arrive goes to the next person in line."

Miranda put her arm down and turned to look at the younger woman, dumbfounded.

Andrea pointed over to the area where she had been standing and watched as it registered on the woman's face. If it weren't so cold outside, she would swear she saw Miranda blush.

"I suppose that explains why none of those assholes stopped."

Andrea smiled politely, cautious of Miranda's growing embarrassment. "Well, lucky for you, I need a cab to. Let's go get in line," she said.

Miranda took a deep breath as she considered the offer. Just then her car pulled up and Roy gave the horn a few taps. "Ah, my driver found his way to the airport after all," she said, climbing into the backseat before Roy could get out of the car.

"Andy! How are ya? Happy New Year" Roy shouted, spotting the young woman. She ran up and gave him a hug.

"Hey Roy, right back at you! Maura and the kids doing okay? They must be, what, in college now, huh?"

Miranda pulled the door shut, and Roy quickly said goodbye and ran to the the front seat. Andrea waved and picked up her bag, making her way back towards the taxi line, which was significantly longer at this point. She couldn't help but notice the young men she was standing with were just getting into a cab.

The honk of a horn startled her, and she looked over to see Roy calling to her out the passenger window. "Get in, Andy! Miranda says to give you a ride home."

Andrea smiled. "Thanks! Can you pop the trunk?" She deposited her bag in the trunk and hurried to get in the car on the driver side.

"Thanks for the ride, Miranda," she said as she settled into the all-too-familiar spot in the town car.

"Roy, take me home first, then deposit Andrea wherever it is she needs to go." She looked over at Andrea as she gently untied the silk scarf around her head. "You would have frozen to death out there waiting in that queue."

"Yes, well, I didn't want to add to the body count this weekend," she added with a smirk.

"Oh, Andy, I've missed you," Roy said, looking up in the rearview mirror. "It's been so quiet in the car without you."

At that comment, Miranda huffed and turned to look out the window while her driver and former assistant caught up. She could hardly keep her eyes open as they weaved in and out of traffic. She wasn't able to sleep on the airplane, and now, she was already imagining how she would quickly rinse off her face in the hall bathroom and take a nap on the couch when she got home. She was so exhausted, the thought of walking up two flights of stairs was unbearable to her.

As they were approaching the Upper East Side, Miranda forced herself to keep her eyes open, but suddenly she saw headlights coming straight at her. "Roy—Roy!" she shouted. "ROY!" she screamed.

Andrea turned and looked at the editor just quickly enough to see the headlights of a large SUV speeding directly at their vehicle. "Miranda!" she cried, without thinking, tugging the woman's shoulders towards her and closing her eyes.

The shrieks of crunching metal and squealing tires rang through Andrea's ears as her body was jolted in the backseat. They spun around several times until the vehicle was finally stopped by a concrete pylon. The sudden silence was overwhelming, and Andrea quickly called out for Roy and Miranda, with no response. All of the vehicle windows were shattered, and though it was dark, she could see smoke billowing up from the vehicle.

She felt blood dripping into her eye and wiped it with her sleeve. Her hands were scratched, but she didn't feel any pain. She quickly looked over to Miranda who was slumped against the seat.

"Miranda," she whispered. "Hey, come on," she said, gently nudging her shoulder. She didn't respond. Andrea saw that the rear passenger door was the primary site of impact, and from the inside, she could see that Miranda's body had been pushed toward the center, her passenger door totally inverted. She kicked her own door open and reached for Miranda, carefully slipping her hand behind the woman's neck in an attempt to protect her spine.

She quickly pulled her hand away when she felt the warm liquid on her hands. It was dark, but she knew it was blood.

Andrea gently held Miranda's cheek as she again tried to wake her. "Miranda, please. Wake up, Miranda. Please."

The woman's eyelids fluttered and her face contorted in a look of pain.

"Miranda, stay with me," Andrea said. "Stay with me, please." She gently stroked the woman's cheek and brushed the hair from her forehead. "Can you talk to me, Miranda? Tell me what you're feeling."

"C-cold," Miranda sputtered.

Andrea quickly removed her coat and draped it over Miranda's torso as the woman's eyelids flickered again.

"Stay with me, Miranda. Hear those sirens? They'll be here to help in no time."

Miranda opened her mouth again to speak and instead coughed up some blood, a single drop trailing from her lip.

"So help me god, Miranda Priestly, you will not die on me. Do you understand?"

Miranda weakly extended her hand and Andrea quickly took it and squeezed it as tears formed in her eyes.

"Miranda, don't do this. There's so much I want to tell you that I never had the chance, and now we just sort of reconnected, Miranda, don't die!" she cried.

The woman's eyes rolled back and her hand went limp just as the paramedics approached.

"Noooo! Miranda!" she cried as a paramedic pulled her out of the car.

"Ma'am, we need to check you out. They'll get her out. How many were in the car?" the paramedic asked as he led Andrea over to the ambulance.

"Two of us—Miranda in the backseat, and Roy was driving."

"And you are?"

"Andy. Andy Sachs. Please, you have to help Miranda!" she cried. She watched them pull Roy out and wheel him towards another ambulance while a firefighter draped a large blanket over Miranda inside the car.

"What's going on? Why aren't they helping her?" she asked.

"Andy, they need to cut her out of the car. She's pinned by the wreckage. The blanket protects her from any flying debris."

Andrea took a few deep breaths and said a silent prayer that Miranda would survive. She would never be able to forgive herself if it were otherwise. She watched as they setup a few spotlights on the vehicle, then quickly peeled the roof away and a section of the side of the door—all in a matter of maybe sixty seconds.

They carefully strapped Miranda to a back board and rushed her into the ambulance where Andrea was.

"You okay to ride with us here?" one of the paramedics asked as they closed up the door and pulled into traffic. "You'll have to get checked out at the hospital, too, but she's our priority, and it looks like she's yours, too."

Andrea nodded.

"Are you related?"

"Uhm…yeah, her niece…sorry. Is she going to be okay?"

The paramedic started an IV and administered some fluids and anti-inflammatory medication. "We're trying to stabilize her, but she's certainly still with us," he said. "Why don't you try talking to her?"

Andrea leaned forward and quietly whispered. "Miranda? Miranda, can you hear me?"

The woman's eyes flickered open, but the restraints prevented her from turning her head. Andrea leaned forward, into Miranda's line of vision.

"Hey, beautiful." She smiled brightly and wiped the tears from her eyes once again. "We're on our way to the hospital. Hang in there, okay?"

Miranda nodded ever so slightly and closed her eyes.

Andrea sat back in the seat, and when she noticed Miranda's fingers fluttering at her side, she reached out and took her hand.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Andrea was pale as a sheet. The adrenaline had left her system, and she was going into shock. After they rushed Miranda to trauma, another nurse helped Andrea into a wheelchair and took her to an exam room before she passed out.

* * *

When Andrea woke, she was in a hospital bed. A police officer was standing in the doorway with a few plastic bags containing what looked like hers and Miranda's personal belongings from the car.

"Ms. Sachs? I'm officer Riley. I have a few questions to ask you about the collision earlier tonight—is that okay?"

"Do you know—is Miranda okay?" Andrea asked anxiously. "And Roy?"

"Miranda is still in surgery. Roy was released, from what I understand," officer Riley said. "Can you tell me what happened when you were in the car?"

Andrea took a deep breath and told the officer her version of events, exactly as she recalled. "Can we press charges against the driver of the SUV?" Andrea asked.

"Yes. He's already in custody. His blood alcohol level was over the limit, and once we explained the life-threatening injuries the victims sustained, he admitted to speeding through that red light."

Andrea sighed. "I want him put away—forever. Miranda's attorney will be filing a lawsuit, I can assure you," she said. "Speaking of which, do you know if anyone called Miranda's ex-husband or daughters? Her publicist?"

"I do not believe anyone else was notified—you did claim to be her niece, didn't you?" officer Riley said with a smile.

"Oh, right. Yes. Would you mind if I made a few phone calls?"

"Not at all. I'll send the nurse back in a few minutes. Call me if you can think of anything else," she said, leaving her card on the bed.

Andrea picked up the phone and dialed a number she still knew by heart.

"Hello? Leslee Dart speaking."

"Leslee, it's Andy Sachs. Miranda's been hurt."

"Hold on, Andy, just a second," she said, covering the mouthpiece and stepping into the bathroom at the New Years Party she was attending. "Okay, tell me everything."

"Les, I don't know. I ran into Miranda at the airport. She offered me a ride home. Roy was driving us, and then a drunk driver hit us. He crashed right into the passenger door, where Miranda always sits."

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. I got a few stitches," she said, reaching up and feeling the sore spot on her forehead, "but I'm fine. And they said Roy was released. But Miranda's in surgery. I don't know the details, but she was going in and out of consciousness before we got here. She was bleeding, and I just want her to be okay," Andrea cried.

"Andy, listen. You did the right thing. You were there for her. You called me. I'll take care of the press and let Nigel know, and once we have a little more information I'll call James. The girls are with him, and it's no use worrying them for nothing. Andy, will you be at the hospital?"

"Yes," she said. "I need to see that she's alive."

"Okay, I'll see you in the morning. Oh, and Happy New Year," she said before ending the call.

Andrea sighed and laid back against the crappy hospital pillow. Definitely not how she had intended to spend her New Years.

.

.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

=== Part Two ===

A few hours later, the ER doctor brought Andrea's discharge papers, just as Miranda was getting out of surgery. Andrea wasn't sure whether Miranda would want her there, but would never forgive herself if she walked away now. Plus, she wanted someone to be there when Miranda woke, whether it was her or Leslee or whoever.

The nurse led her to Miranda's room, where the editor was resting. She was connected to multiple monitors, and it looked like her arm and leg were wrapped in a soft cast. She had a bandage on her head, and Andrea could still see some dried blood on her arms and face.

"How is she?" Andrea asked the nurse.

"It was a rough surgery. She had some internal bleeding, lots of cuts and scrapes, broken ribs, compound fracture in her right leg, sprained wrist…but she's stable now. The next 48 hours will be telling, though. The neurosurgeon thinks she's in the clear for a brain injury, but again, we'll know more in the next two days. She'll be under constant monitoring for any signs of infection, swelling, or bleeding. It will be at least an hour until she's awake from anesthesia, and at that point I imagine she will be in some intense pain. The doctor will need to assess her vitals once she's awake, before administering any pain medication," she said.

"What can I do to help?" the young woman asked.

The nurse smiled and pointed to the small two-seater chair opposite the bed. "Get yourself some rest."

Andrea nodded. "Can I clean her up a bit if I'm careful? You know, wash her face, apply some moisturizer?"

"Sure, as long as you avoid her bandages and monitors. If you need something, we're just outside at the desk, or you can press the call button on her bed."

Andrea nodded and immediately went to her suitcase, pulling out her small bag of toiletries. She stepped into the bathroom and removed her own makeup, ran a brush through her hair, brushed her teeth, and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a blouse. She was grateful that her mother did her laundry before she left Ohio.

Next, she took a few makeup removing wipes and carefully approached Miranda's bedside, removing her makeup and cleaning some of the dried blood on her shoulder and neck. It was a bit terrifying to be this close to Miranda, but after what they had been through, she wanted nothing more than to hug the woman and celebrate her being alive.

Once both wipes were sufficiently soiled, she tossed them in the trash bin and washed her hands. She pulled out her phone and stepped into the hallway so as not to disturb the sleeping editor.

"Hey Leslee?"

"What's the word, Andy?"

"She's out of surgery. Resting now. We're in 602-A at Presbyterian. There were a lot of injuries—sounds like a broken leg might be the worst of it, though, in terms of her recovery," the young woman reported.

"Is she awake?"

"Not yet. Anesthesia should be wearing off soon, though, after which they will surely be giving her some painkillers."

"Got it. Okay, I'm going to give James a call. This is already on the news here in New York."

"Oh god," Andrea groaned. "How bad? Am I mentioned? Are there photos?"

"It's a developing story. Photos of the wrecked car, and they've only figured out the vehicle was carrying Miranda 'and companions,'" she said. "You're all very lucky, you know. The car looks about the size of a Prius it's so smashed, and five more feet and you'd all have been in the East River."

"Oh my god," she said. She could feel her stomach getting queasy. "Look, I gotta go. See you later," she added, quickly ending the call and rushing down the hall to the bathroom. She splashed some water on her face and realized that she hadn't had anything to eat or drink in the past eight hours.

By now, it was late morning. She checked on Miranda—still asleep—and headed down to the cafeteria for coffee and a donut. Halfway through, her queasiness returned and she wrapped the rest of the donut up in napkins and tossed it into her bag.

Back in Miranda's room, she once again checked on the editor. Her skin looked severely dry, so the young woman pulled some Neutrogena moisturizer from her bag and applied it to Miranda's face and neck. Surely, it wasn't as expensive as the creams the woman was used to using, but she was hoping to help make her more comfortable as best she could. She applied some lip balm to the woman's lips, and jumped back when Miranda's tongue slipped out to lick her lips.

"Miranda?"

The editor opened her eyes and closed them again.

"Miranda, are you awake?"

Again, she opened her eyes and licked her lips. "I thought—there was… Why are _you_ —? Where am I?"

Andrea froze. As relieved as she was that the woman was awake, she was terrified at the words coming out of her mouth.

"Uhm, there was an accident. You're in a hospital—Presbyterian. You were in surgery, and—"

Miranda moved, trying to get up out of bed, and she froze when pain seared through her body. It was blinding and she immediately brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she struggled to control her retching.

"Nurse!" Andrea called, shouting out into the hallway.

A nurse and an aide came running, just in time for everyone to see Miranda throwing up all over herself. They quickly grabbed a basin and began cleaning her up, but Miranda locked eyes with the young brunette across the room.

"Get. Out. GET OUT!" she shouted.

"Now Miranda—" the nurse began.

"Not you, _her_!"

The nurse turned towards the doorway just in time to see the brunette running out of the room. "You're probably in excruciating pain, Miranda, and you don't want anyone seeing you like that, am I correct?"

Miranda closed her eyes and nodded.

"And on top of that, you're probably terrifically embarrassed that you just vomited on yourself in front of—what did she say?—your _niece_."

"What?" Miranda hissed.

"Whoever she is, she probably saved your life in the car. She lied to the paramedics so she could ride with you, and to us so she could get updates on you. She slept on that chair over there, because she didn't want you to be alone when you woke up from surgery. She cares about you very much," the nurse said matter-of-factly.

Miranda shook her head—no, that couldn't be true. She closed her eyes as the aide changed her gown, and for once she understood why they tied in the back and had all of those snaps. Looking around, with all the monitors she was connected to, there would have been no way to pull on a shirt.

"Miranda," a young man called, gently tapping on the door.

She woke and tried to sit up, again feeling the blinding pain throughout her body.

"Don't try to move. I'm Dr. Fitzgerald, but everyone calls me Dr. Fitz. I'm going to assess your vitals, then get you some painkillers, okay?"

Miranda quietly nodded as he made his way over to the machines. She felt his cold hands examining her wrist, her leg, her torso, and at once it occurred to her that she must have been injured badly.

"Okay, almost finished," he said. "Miranda, I need you to open your eyes and follow my finger." He dimmed the light directly above her head and moved his finger left to right, watching for her eyes to follow. "Great. Now, can you touch your left hand to your chin?"

She paused for a moment, then brought the fingertips of her left hand to rest on her chin.

"Excellent. Now, what is your name and date of birth?"

"Miranda Priestly. May 22nd, 1959."

"Good. And what is your occupation?" Dr. Fitz asked.

"Editor in Chief of _Runway_ magazine, Elias Clarke Publications."

"And what year is it?"

"2012. Must we really continue these?"

The doctor made a note in his pad, then looked up at the woman. "We need to check your short- and long-term memory to watch for signs of brain injury. There will be more of these coming up," he said with a chuckle. "And by the way, it's 2013. Happy New Year."

Miranda groaned and closed her eyes. "About those painkillers?"

"Coming right up!" he said as the nurse administered something into her IV. "We'll put you on a pump in a few hours, and that will be even better," he said. "Get some rest, oh, and be a little bit nicer to that friend of yours."

Miranda waved him off and tried to relax as she felt a wave of medicinal relief crashing over her body.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Andy, it's Leslee. Look, I'm not going to make it to the hospital this morning. There's a media circus outside the townhouse and at Elias Clarke—I'm busy. You're okay with her for now?"

Andrea sniffled. "She woke up and kicked me out, but, uh, yeah I guess I can stick around."

"Thanks, Andy. Oh, and James wants to talk to Miranda when she wakes up. So if you can make that happen…thanks," she said, ending the call.

Andrea sighed and sank back into the chair in the waiting room. "Let's get this over with," she muttered to herself before heading back down the hall.

She quietly opened the door to Miranda's room, and sighed. The editor looked to be sleeping again. Andrea walked over to the chair and gathered her bags, placing them by the door so she wouldn't forget them. As she was about to return to Miranda's bedside, her phone rang, and she watched the editor's eyes open wide.

"Shit," she said, fumbling to silence her phone. "Miranda, I'm sorry," she added, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"Come here," she said quietly.

Andrea was sure she heard that tone of voice before—that chillingly quiet voice that always signaled Miranda's greatest anger. She carefully walked up to the bedside, her eyes still fixed at the ground. "Yes, Miranda?"

"Shouldn't that be _Auntie_ Miranda to you?" she said.

Andrea's eyes shot up in surprise. Miranda wasn't angry at all. In fact, she was smiling. Ah, painkillers, she thought.

"Yes, Auntie," she said with a giggle. "I apologize for that—I was just worried they would only let family… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Miranda shrugged, and as she continued to look at the young woman, she noticed the bandages above her eye and on her hands. "Are you hurt?" she asked.

Andrea froze. "Pardon?"

"You have bandages on your forehead and your hands. Were you injured?"

She reached up and felt the stere-strips above her eye. "Just a few cuts, but otherwise I am fine. Thank you for asking," she said, stepping a bit closer. "And how are you feeling?"

"Wonderful, now," she said. "Exhausted," she added. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday, January 1st, 2013," she said. "New Year's Day. Is there something you need?"

Miranda shook her head. "It's just the medication."

"Oh, I talked to Leslee—I hope you don't mind. She said James asked that you call him as soon as you're able," Andrea added.

Miranda sighed and brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. That singular familiar gesture sent a surge of relief through the younger woman.

"I can get him on the phone now, if you would like," she offered.

"No. I'm not—I don't want to…talk to him. Not yet," she said, her eyes closed.

Andrea nodded and they sat in silence for a few moments. She could see that the woman was again falling asleep. "Well, I'll let you get your rest," she said, quietly gathering her things and walking out.

Passing by the nurse's station, she left her number and asked them to call if there were any emergencies. Why, she wasn't entirely sure. She pulled a baseball cap out of her bag and put it on before leaving the hospital to hail a cab, completely unseen to the hordes of photographers camped outside in the darkness.

At home, she finally took her hot shower, and she made herself a cup of tea before curling up on her bed. She wanted to call her mother, but it was the middle of the night. She tried to close her eyes, but all she could think about were the events of the past twenty-four hours. Running into Miranda. Catching up with Roy. The accident. Miranda coughing up blood. Holding Miranda's hand in the ambulance.

It was too much, and she curled up into a ball as she let her sobs overcome her. Her fears, anxiety, and relief—all of it.

* * *

Some time later, she woke with a start. Her cell phone was ringing, somewhere on the other side of the room, and she fumbled up to answer before the caller hung up.

"Hello?"

"Hi - is this Andy Sachs?"

"Yes, speaking," she said nervously.

"This is Claire from Presbyterian."

"Oh god, Miranda," she gasped.

"Yes, regarding Ms. Priestly. You had asked to be called if anything came up, and, well, she's been taken back into surgery. After you left, she began running a fever, and she began presenting with signs of a brain contusion. The surgeon made the decision this morning to take her back into the OR to relieve the pressure."

"But she's okay?"

"She's out of surgery, and she's stable, but you must know that Dr. Fitzgerald had to administer a high dosage of propofol to induce a coma to relieve the strain on her cerebrum," Claire explained.

Andrea took a deep breath. Time to put her _Runway_ hat on. "Okay. I presume she is in the ICU. Please ensure that she has a private room and that access to her room is secured—and I do mean secured. I want a guard posted at the door, and a log of who enters and exits, both staff and visitors. If the hospital can't provide a guard, we are happy to provide one from Ms. Priestly's private security firm. Not a word of her stay in the hospital or her condition or treatment is to be discussed outwardly. I will provide a list of individuals who are allowed access to Ms. Priestly, and if you have any issues at all with any of these requests, I can assure you we will call Dr. Henderson, your Chief of Staff. Ms. Priestly is very good friends with several members of the Board of Directors at your hospital group, as well, and if needed, I have no doubt they will have her full support."

Her speech was met with silence on the line.

"Claire, are Ms. Priestly's requirements understood?"

"Yes, Andy. Private room, guard, entry log, confidentiality, visitor log. It will take us a few hours to get everything setup, and I will confirm when everything is in place."

"Thank you, Claire. I know Ms. Priestly is grateful for your willingness to help. I will be in personally in a few hours myself, but if Leslee Dart or Nigel Kipling arrive, they should be allowed to visit," Andrea said.

"Got it. Well, I've got some work to do. I'll call you if anything changes," Claire said.

"That's all," Andrea said, smiling as she ended the call. She took a deep breath, and the tears started all over again.

She showered and dressed, then called her mom as she made her way to the bus stop. She told her mom everything—about running into Miranda, about the accident, and most importantly, about her fierce feelings of protectiveness over the woman.

Her mother reassured her that it was natural to be so emotional after such a traumatic experience, but Andy knew it went deeper. She told her mom how hard she prayed that Miranda would survive, how the thought of Miranda dying before she had the opportunity to tell her how much she cared about her—how much she loved her.

"That's just it, Mom. I do. I love her," Andrea said.

"Oh honey, of course you do. You're a very generous and loving young woman, just like we raised you to be," her mother replied.

Andrea sighed. Her mother had a point about the emotions and traumatic experience, but she knew her feelings towards Miranda were more than generosity. She quickly ended the call as she got off the bus and entered the hospital.

When she found her way to the Intensive Care Unit, she asked for Claire and was showed to Miranda's room. There was a guard outside, and a visitor log just like she asked. Claire also pointed out the closed-circuit security camera on the door. They intentionally put it an an angle so that the doorway and the visitor's face would be visible, but nothing inside the room could be seen.

Andrea was impressed. Looking at the log, she saw that Leslee had been by earlier. She thanked Claire once again, and entered the room. She certainly wasn't prepared to see the woman looking so fragile.

She walked up to Miranda's bedside and softly took her hand. She didn't fear the editor waking up, so she even leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the woman's forehead before pulling up a chair and taking a seat.

"Hi Miranda," she whispered. "I don't know if you can hear me, or if you'll remember anything I say, but I, um, think you'd be proud of the way I arranged this room for you."

She picked up Miranda's hand again and gave it a little squeeze.

"I calmly gave them a list of demands and casually threatened to go to the Chief of Staff and Board of Directors, and just like that, they magically made arrangements. I learned that from you." She fought back the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "No one can do it like you, though, and I can't wait to hear you—to talk to you again when you wake." She bent down and kissed the woman's hand. "Rest up. I'm going to give James a call for you."

She spent the next half hour talking to Miranda's first ex-husband, James. She gave him the number for the nurse's station so he could check-in as he needed. He said that Caroline and Cassidy were supposed to fly back at the end of next week, but he would talk to them and play it by ear. He didn't want them around Miranda if she was on heavy painkillers, or worse, in a coma.

"Um, one last thing," Andrea said.

"Sure."

"Do you know if there's anyone else I should notify? Did Miranda have any family or close friends or current significant others? I really only talked to her for five minutes before the accident," she explained.

"No. No family or friends. I suppose Nigel, although I don't know that they keep in touch much since he left. Me and Leslee are about it," he said.

"Okay, thanks."

"Andy? The girls and I appreciate you being there with her. She's their world, and I know that they think very highly of you."

"It's my pleasure," Andrea said. "Miranda is a remarkable woman, and I'm happy to do what I can for her and her family."

After ending that call, Andrea sent an email to her boss at _The Mirror_ , explaining that she was in an auto accident over the weekend and wasn't sure how she would handle being back to work right away. She asked if he was willing to be flexible, allowing her to work remotely. He responded quickly, telling her to do what she needed to do. Andrea was relieved—this meant she could spend more time with Miranda.

The doctor came by to check on her, and he was pleased with the reduced swelling. He anticipated that they could begin waking her up as soon as Friday.

Andrea was shocked and relieved, and also a little nervous. When Miranda woke up, there was no telling whether she would tolerate the young woman's company.

Still, Andrea took advantage of the next few days. Luckily, they were slow days at work, so she spent some time in her apartment in the morning, then went to visit Miranda at the hospital and worked from her room for the rest of the day. She read some of the newspaper aloud to Miranda, and even talked through some of her work.

On Thursday evening before she left, she took her time saying goodbye to the editor. She lowered the handrail on the bed and carefully sat at the edge. She held Miranda's left hand tightly, and with her other hand, she softly caressed the woman's cheek.

"Miranda, I started saying this to you in the car, right after the accident. I didn't know if you were going to survive, and in that moment, I knew I needed to tell you what's been on my mind—more often than you could know," she said. She leaned over and kissed Miranda's forehead as the snow white tresses tickled her nose.

She pressed another kiss to the woman's temple, her cheek, and then the corner of her lips, careful not to dislodge the breathing tube. "I love you, Miranda. I've loved you for years, since before Paris. I don't expect anything from you, but I only ask that you let me be a part of your life. Please don't push me away completely. You've changed my life, and I feel surprisingly confident around you. I like myself around you, and I would love to get to know you better—the real Miranda."

Andrea sat back and gently laid Miranda's hand back on the bed. She returned the handrail to its former position and gathered her things. "If all goes well," she said, "this time tomorrow, you'll be awake. Rest well, my queen," she said before turning and walking out the door.

On her way home, she again called her mother. "No, Mom. It's more than that. I think of her all the time. I want to be near her. I want to hug her and hold her and wake up to the flutter of her eyelids."

Her mom sighed. "Andy, honey, remember who she is. Be careful, I don't want to see you hurt."

"I know," Andy said. "But right now, I feel more hurt, more ache than ever. I need to explore this and see where it might lead. Didn't you always tell me love was about taking risks? That whole 'no pain, no gain' theory? Well. This is it. I would rather put it out there and be hurt than spend the rest of my life wondering."

"Oh, sweetheart, sometimes I forget that you are a grown woman and not my little Andy anymore. Listen, I love you, and I'm here for you. If anyone can win over the Ice Queen, I think it would be you."

Andrea chuckled. "Thanks, Mom. Love you."

"Love you, too. Let me know how it goes."

"Thanks. Bye."

* * *

The next morning, Andrea quickly took care of a few work emails and arrived at the hospital just before 10:00 AM. Dr. Fitz and Claire were both in the room when she arrived.

"Hey, how is she doing today?" Andrea asked, tossing her bag in what became "her" chair.

"She's doing wonderfully. We were able to turn down the ventilator this morning, and she's doing well. I think she'll be just fine on her own, which means that her lungs have had a chance to heal, too. We'll remove the tube as soon as she wakes, which could be anywhere from 2-6 hours, depending on how quickly her body flushes the propofol and morphine from her system," he said.

"So basically," Claire added, "it's great news, and she'll be awake in a few hours."

Andrea smiled. "Thanks. That is great news. Can I stay here in the room—or do you need me to leave?"

"Nope, you can stay. We'll be in and out frequently," she added, moving the call button so that it was within Andrea's reach. "When she wakes up, she'll probably start gagging on the tube. Call us right away, and just calmly try to get her to relax."

Andrea thanked them and moved to Miranda's bedside. "Good morning, beautiful," she said, pulling out her bag and taking out a cleansing wipe. She softly moved the cloth over the woman's face, then followed with moisturizer and lip balm. She sprayed some dry shampoo on the woman's hair and ran a brush through it, careful to keep her signature curl resting on her forehead.

"I wish there was more I could do for you," she said quietly as she picked up the woman's hand. "Oh, someone needs a manicure," she said. She noticed that the signature red polish on Miranda's nails was significantly grown out, and missing altogether on some of the nails. "I'll touch this up for you," she said, pulling out a bottle of Dior "Rouge" nail lacquer from her bag. She quickly painted the four nails that had been removed, and touched up the others.

She went to the bathroom and washed her hands before returning to her chair at Miranda's bedside. As was becoming ritual, she read a few stories aloud from the _Times_ , then pulled out her laptop and turned on her favorite playlist, one she also imagined Miranda would enjoy: Bach's Brandenburg Concertos featuring Itzhak Perleman.

Sighing, she opened her email and began to work.

"Listen to this," Andrea said. "I can't believe we pay these people to write when they can't even put together a coherent sentence in an email!"

The morning went on, Andrea talking aloud as she worked, Claire and Dr. Fitz coming in periodically to check on her. Just after noon, she noticed Miranda's fingers fluttering and she knew that would mean the woman would be waking up soon. Andrea put her computer away and moved closer to the bed.

"Miranda, the doctors say you're doing much better. I will be relieved when I know you're awake. James and the girls can't wait to talk to you, either. They're staying in Park City a little bit longer while you heal," she said.

"You know, I really hope you don't hate me. Otherwise, the past few days were probably like hell for you," she added with a chuckle. "I mean, I will understand if you don't want me around, like if I'm too weird or annoying, but I do have my good qualities. Hey, I knew there was a taxi line at the airport, that's something, right?"

Andrea nervously paced back and forth in the room. "Umm, I don't really know what else to say. I'm a little nervous—anxious, really. In college I really struggled with anxiety. Not surprised I didn't more while I worked for you, but I guess I just didn't have time for it," she laughed.

She turned back towards the bed and saw Miranda's eyelids fluttering open and her jaw beginning to move. Andrea quickly stuck her head out the door and flagged down Claire before returning to her bedside.

"Welcome back, Miranda," Claire said loudly as she carefully removed the tape holding the breathing tube to her lips.

The editor's eyes were open now, and she began coughing and gasping on the plastic tubing.

"Hold still, just relax and count to five," Claire said as she slid the tube out and handed it to the other nurse who had come into the room to assist. "Take a few deep breaths. Relax. I'm going to raise you up at a bit of an angle, and then I'll be back with some water."

Miranda closed her eyes and nodded as breathed and felt the bed rise. When she opened her eyes again, she was sitting up, and her eyes were locked with a certain young brunette who was sitting anxiously on the edge of her chair.

The corner of her lips curled up and she tried to speak, but her throat was dry. She lifted her hand and gestured for Andrea to come closer. When she was a few inches away, Miranda reached for her hand.

"It is you," she whispered. "I thought… that I was dreaming… but you're here."

Andrea smiled and softly pressed a kiss to Miranda's hand. "Yes, it's really me."

Claire returned with Dr. Fitz and a pitcher of ice chips. "Miranda, good afternoon," he said with a smile. Claire helped give her a spoonful of the ice chips while the doctor reviewed her vitals. "How's the headache?" he asked.

"Gone."

"Excellent. And the other pain? Can you take a deep breath for me, wiggle your fingers and toes, turn your head side to side?"

Miranda did as Dr. Fitz asked and winced. "Still hurts."

"Okay, we're going to see if you can tolerate some oral medication." Turning to Claire he said, "Get her 500mg of norco every 8 hours and see how she does. And Miranda, I'll be back in a few hours to check in on you. If everything looks good, we can start putting a care plan together to help you get home."

"Thank you, doctor," she said.

Claire returned with the medication and a small glass of water, as well as a warm blanket which she draped over Miranda's petite frame. "Here," she said, handing another warm blanket to the young woman with a smile. "If you need anything, Miranda, please press the call button, or Andy can come find us."

Miranda nodded and laid back against her pillow. They were alone in the room, and Andrea found the courage to speak up first.

"I should probably go back to work," she said.

Miranda looked at her wide-eyed.

"Or, I could stay here."

Miranda nodded and closed her eyes. "I don't know how to explain it, but I _felt_ you here with me these past few days."

Andrea's eyes widened as she suddenly feared that Miranda heard and remembered everything she said.

"It's vague and spotty, but I just remember you talking to me. What about, I have no idea, but I could hear your voice," she said.

Andrea smiled and nodded. "I worked from your room here while you were sleeping. And you know me, total chatterbox," she said, blushing.

"Andrea," Miranda said, pausing to meet the young woman's eyes. "Thank you."

.

.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I originally thought I could finish this story in three chapters, but it's going to be a little bit longer. Hopefully that's yay for more story and boo for having to wait a tiny bit longer. xo

* * *

== Part Three ==

"Of course," Andrea said, letting go of the woman's hand. "Your daughters and James have been worried sick," she explained as she got her phone out of her bag. She connected the earbuds and sent James a quick text message, letting him know Miranda was awake and coherent.

"Oh my god, I can only imagine. Are they still—what day is it?"

"It's Friday, January 4th, and yes, they're still in Utah with their father." She saw the woman relax a little bit. "Do you feel up to talking to them right now?"

"Not really. But, I will," she said. At Andrea's concerned expression, she reached out her hand for the phone and dialed James' number.

"Hello?"

"Darling?"

"Mom! Cass, come here, it's Mom!" the young girl said.

"Caroline, my baby, I love you so much."

"Mom?"

"Hi Cassy baby. I love you sweetheart."

"Mom, are you okay? Dad said there was an accident."

"And that Andy was there to save you."

Miranda glanced over at the young brunette who had stepped away to give her some privacy. "Yes, my darlings. But I am okay now, and I am going to focus on getting better."

"We wanted to come home right away, but Dad said we had to stay here until you were better. Is Andy taking good care of you?"

The woman smiled. "Yes, very much so. The doctor says I can't talk long, so can you put your dad on the phone?"

"Can we talk to you again tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course. I will call you two every day," she said. "I love you and can't wait to see you and give you two great big hugs."

"Okay, Mom. We love you. Here's Dad," Cassidy said.

"Miranda? My god, what happened?" he said.

"James, are the girls still on the line?"

"No, they're in another room. What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she said as tears began streaming down her cheeks. "I am just so out of sorts. And I can't remember…"

"Honey, don't worry about that. It will come back to you. Just focus on resting and recuperating," he said.

"But the girls are supposed to be back in school. And I can't…"

"Miranda, honey. Don't worry about that. I've already talked to the Headmaster at Dalton and made arrangements. They still have another week of break, so we'll play it by ear," he said.

"Alright," she said. "I don't know where my phone is or the number here, so I'll call back tomorrow."

"Okay, get some rest," he said.

She ended the call and closed her eyes. It was wonderful hearing her daughters' voices, but now she just felt guilty for worrying them so much.

"Miranda?" she whispered, approaching the bed to gather her phone.

"Hmm? Oh," she sighed.

"It's okay, you've been through a lot. Go back to sleep," Andrea said.

"No, no. Tell me—what happened? How badly am I hurt?"

The young woman's eyes widened. She expected Miranda would be a little groggy after waking up, but to not remember the entire accident, that she did not expect. She pulled the chair closer to Miranda's bedside and took a seat.

"So, I ran into you at LaGuardia. You offered me a ride home. We were almost to the townhouse, and um," she paused. "We were struck—by a drunk driver. We got to the hospital and they took you in for surgery. Then, um, they were concerned about brain swelling and the broken ribs and your lungs, so the doctor put you in a medically-induced coma, and then three days later, today, you were doing better so they woke you up."

Miranda's eyes were closed and she took a few deep breaths. "What are my injuries?"

"Um, let's see. Broken ribs, sprained wrist, compound leg fracture, some cuts and bruises, and then, uh, whatever they're considering your head. I mean, I don't think it's technically a brain injury—a contusion maybe? Oh, and there was a lot of internal bleeding—I think that was one of the reasons you were in surgery."

Miranda nodded. "And my driver—?"

"Roy? He was okay. I haven't talked to him, but they released him from the hospital before I was discharged."

"So, I was the only one, really, who got hurt?" she asked.

Andrea wasn't sure where she was going with that line of thought, but she couldn't think of a way to answer the question without upsetting the woman.

"Physically, you sustained the most injuries from the crash, and I believe the police said that was the point of impact."

"That's where I always sit," Miranda whispered. "Was Roy not able to avoid the other vehicle?"

"Miranda, we were stopped. It happened so fast. The other car went through a red light, and—"

"You were talking to Roy. I remember that. He—he was distracted."

"Miranda, please—" she cautioned. She could see where the conversation was headed.

"I think I would like to be alone for a while," she said.

Andrea nodded and quietly headed out.

* * *

On Saturday morning, she straightened her apartment and ran a few errands—to the dry cleaners, the grocery store, and the post office to pick up her mail that had been on hold. If Miranda wanted to be alone, who was Andrea to decide otherwise.

The following morning, she woke with very strong feelings of guilt. Not only was distracting Roy in the car that night, but she escaped uninjured, and didn't even visit or call Miranda yesterday. By noon, it was too much, and she called over to the hospital and asked to speak to Claire.

"Andy, I'm glad you called," she said.

"Is she okay?"

"Yes, well, physically. But emotionally, she's all over the place. We're trying a different type of pain medication, but I'm not sure what else to do. She's refusing the psych counsel. We had to restrain her."

"Oh my. Um, is she just being…bitchy? You know, because she's annoyed and embarrassed? Or is it more serious?" Andrea asked. "Please don't repeat what I said."

"Of course. I thought that, too, you know, we've all heard the stories. But it's something else entirely. I really think she needs to speak with someone. She's been through a lot, and she's very angry that she's in her present condition," Claire explained.

"Yes, I saw a bit of that on Friday. I would still like to swing by. Is there anything I can bring her, you think? I charged up her cell phone for her, and will deliver that, but anything else?"

"Most patients who are recovering from similar trauma appreciate familiar things, be it a pillow or pillowcase, a dressing gown, photos, personal toiletries, even comforting fragrance. Do you want me to tell her you're coming?"

"No. I'll be by in a few hours," Andrea said.

Once she hung up with Claire, she called Leslee. She still had the key to the townhouse from her days as Miranda's assistant, and she asked Leslee for permission to go retrieve a few items. The publicist gave Andrea the new security code, and soon Andrea found herself standing in the foyer. Not much had changed since she was last there, but the scent—Miranda's scent—lingered in the air.

Andrea made her way up the stairs and found Miranda's bedroom. There, she found a large tote and began gathering items—the pillow from her bed, her reading glasses, deodorant, mouthwash, her toothbrush, her moisturizer, Miranda's signature Guerlain fragrance. She selected a silk robe from the closet, as well as some silk pajamas that looked roomy enough for her bandages, a long nightgown, a few camisoles, and her slippers. She also grabbed a Hermes silk scarf for good measure.

In her study, she walked over to the desk, looking for a photo or two to bring. Sitting on the desk was a novel with a bookmarked page—a bookmark that Cassidy and Caroline had apparently made her when they were little children. Next to the book were several framed family photos, and tucked into one of the more formal portraits was a picture of Miranda and the girls sitting on the townhouse steps. It was a more recent photo, and all three of them looked incredibly happy. She took the photo from the frame, slipped it in between the pages of the book, then gathered her things and made her way downstairs. In the kitchen, she saw a case of Pellegrino on the counter, so she took a bottle, as well as one of Miranda's glasses, and made her way out the door, careful to reset the alarm system.

When she arrived at the hospital, she stopped first to speak with Claire. She gave her the number of Miranda's personal therapist, suggesting that Miranda might be more comfortable with someone who's familiar. The nurse took the number and said she would make a few calls.

Taking a deep breath, Andrea pushed the door open and entered the room. Miranda was sleeping—or pretending to—so Andrea quietly unpacked her things and set them out on the bedside table. She hung the clothes in the small closet area and took the pillow with her as she approached the bed.

"Miranda? I brought some things for you," she said quietly. The older woman's eyes blinked open, and Andrea could tell that she had actually woken her up. "Would you like to lay on your own pillow instead of that one?" she asked.

Miranda saw the dark blue satin pillow and smiled. "How did you—?"

"Leslee helped me gather some things you might like to have," she said, gesturing at the table. "I'm going to adjust the bed so you can sit up," she said.

Once the bed was raised as high as it could be, Andrea undid the velcro restraints on her arms. Even with that, she saw that Miranda did not have the strength to push herself up off the pillow. She considered reaching her arm out for the editor to hold and pull herself up, but that would require using her abdominal muscles which were probably pretty sore. "Here," she said quietly, leaning forward and slipping her arm underneath Miranda's and behind her back.

For a moment, it felt as if they were hugging, but Andrea quickly helped her to sit up enough to swap out the pillows. She gently guided Miranda back against the bed and the woman closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure.

"This feels so good," she said, turning her head to the side to face the young woman.

Andrea blushed and stepped away, lowering the incline of the bed back to where it was when she arrived. "I brought some pajamas—when the aide comes in the morning, she can help you change into them. I wasn't sure which would be easiest—pants or a gown—so I brought a little bit of everything."

"You didn't have to do this," Miranda said.

She shrugged. "I wanted to. Plus, I wanted to bring you your phone. I charged it—it's still off."

"I am not ready for that."

"That's fine. If you want I can turn the data and wifi off so that you can literally just use it for calls and texts," Andrea suggested. "Just let me know. Oh, and I have some Pellegrino and a glass—it's chilling in some ice now. And your reading glasses, and a book, if you're bored."

Tears started to form in the editor's eyes. "Andrea, why are you doing this for me?"

The young woman took a seat in the chair and sighed. "I realized something—in the car, when I didn't know if we were going to survive," she said. "You mean… something… to me. We haven't seen each other in years. And I know we were hardly close when I worked for you. We hardly know each other. It's just… my world is better with you in it."

"I hardly deserve such praise, and you're right in that we really don't know each other. Except, I know that you are trustworthy, kindhearted, and incredibly empathetic. You must realize, though, that I always have my doubts about others motives, particularly when they concern me."

"Oh, Miranda, I swear to you my motives are simple: I want to see you happy and well."

The editor nodded. "As you know, I have very few friends and family. If you weren't here this past week…"

"Oh, but I was," Andrea said with a smile. "And if you'll permit, I would like to be here throughout your recovery—at least while you're still in the hospital."

"I think I would like that," Miranda said. "And you more than anyone knows that I might be a difficult patient at times."

Andrea chuckled. "Who? You? Never." She was glad to see the editor roll her eyes at that. "So, look. Tomorrow is Monday and I have to go back to work. I was thinking that I could swing by after—around 6 or so. Is that okay?"

Miranda nodded. "I will be here."

"Well, that's settled then. Do you want to lay down for a while, or do you feel up to chatting?"

"I can stay awake," Miranda said.

"Oh, good. Um, I hope you don't mind, but when I was in your study getting your phone charger and this book, I grabbed this, too." Andrea reached between the pages of the book and pulled out the photograph, handing it to Miranda.

The editor gasped. "My girls. I love this picture," she said. "This was last year, in September. The girls had just started 7th grade. James was leaving for Park City and came to say goodbye to the girls. We sat on the front porch for a while, and I just remember being so grateful that their father is such a good man. With him, I was always able to push aside the bitterness from the divorce and just appreciate being parents of two amazing girls. I was worried at first that the girls would miss seeing him so often, but they said it would just give them more time to spend with me," she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

"That's wonderful. You're fortunate—I don't think many divorced parents can say the same thing about their exes," the young woman added.

"No, I don't think so. James was different. It never bothered him that I was so busy with work. He never cheated on me, nor I him. Just, after the girls were born, he absolutely fell in love with them. And I couldn't compete with that. I didn't want to." She sighed and handed the photo back to Andrea. "I think every woman fears that her partner will not love their child enough, so naturally I was overjoyed at his affection for them. I think if we would have only had one child at a time, it might have worked out. I mean, biologically, that would have never happened—it was a miracle I was able to carry them in the first place. But you know, if I could do it all over again, I'd do it exactly the same. Despite living apart, the girls grew up with a very strong connection to both of their parents, and I couldn't ask for much more."

"Can I ask why it was such a miracle? If it's too personal—"

"No, it's fine. When I was seventeen I had an abortion. I was in high school, had a scholarship to a local Christian college, and I just couldn't have a baby at that time. Years later when James and I married, we tried right away. I began taking some fertility treatments, and we had two miscarriages at 12 and 18 weeks."

Andrea reached out and squeezed Miranda's hand. "I'm so sorry."

"After that, the doctor ran some additional tests and realized that I had some scarring on my uterus. They didn't think I would ever be able to carry a baby to term. James and I—we talked about a surrogate, but I don't think he was comfortable with that. Instead, we decided to try inVitro. We had three embryos—the first two failed, and the third worked, and turned into twins. I was ridiculously paranoid and protective during my pregnancy. They were born early at 33 weeks, but perfectly healthy."

"So how old are they now? 14?"

Miranda nodded. "Eighth grade. I think they'll stay at Dalton for High School. They love it there, and the school is obviously challenging, academically."

As the evening went on, Miranda talked more about her daughters and how they've grown, a subject, Andrea noted, that seemed to calm and relax the woman. They talked a little more, then Andrea left right before her nightly call to the girls. She was happy to get to know the editor better, and grateful that the woman felt comfortable sharing such personal stories with her. Conversation between them felt natural, and that's more than Andrea could have hoped for.

* * *

For the rest of the week, Andrea arrived at the hospital by 6:30 each day and stayed until about 8:00 PM, depending on how Miranda was feeling. Andrea told Miranda all about her newest position at _The Mirror_ , about her family in Ohio, and even about her love life for the past few years—or rather, lack thereof. Miranda told Andrea how Nigel left for Women's Wear and took Emily with him, and admitted to feeling hurt and lonely after their departure.

On Friday, however, when Andrea visited, Miranda was not in a good mood. At all.

"Hey," Andrea said, walking in and setting her things down. "Did you read that article?" she asked, pointing at the copy of the _Times_ laying on her bed.

"No, I didn't read that fucking article," she said, picking up the paper and throwing it at the young woman.

"Whoa," Andrea said, picking the paper up from the floor and setting it on the counter. She stood at the end of the bed and noticed that Miranda was wearing her pajamas today instead of the night dress. That had to have meant the nurses had her up and about this morning. "What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_? Everything. Everything is fucking wrong. I'm stuck in this bed, in this room because of some fucking kid who wanted to have a good time on New Years Eve. I can't see my daughters. I haven't done my hair or makeup in nearly two weeks. My therapist shows up today. I can't even fucking go to the bathroom on my own. And you want to know what's _wrong_."

Andrea nodded, taking it all in. It was a bit like the Editor in Chief swooped through the hospital room, and Andrea was suspicious that it had something to do with the visit from the therapist. She remembered Miranda always would "work from home" after her therapist appointments, and that she was often irate in the office the following day. Given that information, and knowing that Miranda hadn't really talked to anyone about the traumatic experience yet, she had an idea that just might work.

"Okay, I'm sorry," she said as she cautiously approached the bed. "I can't begin to imagine what you're going through." She sat on the edge of the bed. "Please don't hurt me," she whispered as she leaned over and wrapped her arms around the woman, pulling her into a tight hug.

The editor stiffened at first, then tried to push her away. Andrea kept her grip firm but gentle, and soothingly rubbed her hands along the woman's back. Eventually, she softened and laid her head on the young woman's shoulder.

"It's okay, cry as much as you need to," the young woman said. She felt Miranda's arms wrap around her waist and she sighed. "What can I do to help you?" she asked when she felt the woman's sobs lighten up.

"Just hold me," she whispered.

Andrea was more than a little surprised by that answer, but as always, willing to comply. She sat there for at least ten minutes, just holding Miranda and softly stroking her back.

"They said I can go home on Sunday," Miranda said quietly, "but I can't be by myself. I will have to hire a caretaker to come live with me temporarily, or there's a rehabilitation facility in Manhattan. I don't want the girls to see me like this, and I have no one else," she cried.

"Wouldn't you rather be at home than here in this room?" Andrea asked.

"I'm so sick of it all—hospitals and doctors and nurses and aides," she said, pushing Andrea away. "My wrist and ribs are healing, and the only thing left is my leg. I don't see why I need some stranger to live with me for that. Someone would come twice a day for physical therapy. Isn't that enough?"

"Would you like me to talk to the doctor for you?"

"No. I already said all that could be said on the subject," she said.

"So, um," Andrea hesitated. "Not to point out the obvious, but, um, I am not a stranger. At least I don't think I am."

Miranda looked at her in confusion, then her eyes widened as she realized what the young woman was suggesting. "You would—Oh, I can't ask you to do that, Andrea. You've done so much already."

"Then you can hire me instead."

"What?"

"Hire me. I can work 8 hours per day, Monday through Friday. Nights and weekends I'll still be around, but as your, uh, guest instead of your caretaker," she said.

"But what will you do about your job?"

"I will take some time off—at least until your doctor says you can do without help." She made a mental note to call the doctor who evaluated her in the ER and get her to write a temporary leave notice.

"It's not going to be what you think," Miranda said. She was trying to talk the young woman out of it, even when she knew she would accept. "It's probably going to take two full weeks. And we're not going to be sitting around having girl talk all day. I still have pain, and the painkillers make me sick. I get uncomfortable, and sometimes I can be moody."

Andrea bit her lip as she struggled to contain her laughter. "I know about all that. I was your assistant for a year, remember? I'd say that's the perfect prerequisite for this position. If you need to see my references," she said with a smirk, "they would be Miranda Priestly, James Priestly, and Leslee Dart."

Miranda pursed her lips. "Well, Ms. Sachs, your references check out, so if you're still interested, the job is yours. I can assure you the wages will be satisfactory."

Andrea smiled and shook Miranda's hand.

* * *

That evening, she talked to the doctors and made arrangements for Miranda to be discharged on Sunday morning. The physical therapist stressed the importance for Miranda to be up and about as much as possible, and between that and the difficulties she would have with climbing stairs, Miranda agreed to have the formal living room converted to a bedroom temporarily. It was the only room on the first floor with a door, and the first-floor bathroom, which was a full bath with a walk-in shower, was just outside. Andrea called a moving company the following morning and made all of the arrangements. She also ordered an inflatable air mattress for herself, should she also need to stay somewhere nearby, as well as a one-way monitor, just in case.

After talking to her doctor and getting a medical leave for up to 6 weeks post-accident, Andrea spent most of the day Saturday at the townhouse, overseeing the movers and helping to arrange everything just so. She adjusted the roman shades in the living room so that the lower half of the window was covered while light came in through the upper half. At least initially, she knew Miranda would want her privacy. She also hung curtains on the inside of the French doors that opened to the room, once again trying to make the room seem more private and comfortable. The movers were able to bring her bed and nightstand down from the master suite, as well as the oversized armchair and freestanding mirror. The sofas, chairs, and other items that were in the living room were now stored in the master suite, out of the way so that Andrea could still access Miranda's clothes and toiletries as needed. Andrea brought what seemed to be the most important items downstairs to the bathroom, then set about gathering some vases of flowers, pictures, pillows, and throws to make it feel at home.

Also on the main floor was the sitting room, the kitchen, the formal dining room, and the den. She figured Miranda would not be using the formal dining room, so she asked the movers to rearrange some of the furniture in there so she could sleep there if needed.

Saturday night, at the hospital, Miranda was once again in a rage. She was finally disconnected from the IV, blood pressure cuff, and other various monitoring devices. They gave her a new, more lightweight splint for her wrist, and changed the bandages on the wound on her head and shoulder. They exchanged her full-leg soft cast for a hard cast that went up to her mid thigh. It was heavy and awkward, and did not allow her to bend her leg at all. Although that was the intended effect to speed healing, Miranda was not happy.

"Hmm," Andrea said, examining the cast. "Where do I want to sign it…?"

"Don't even talk stupid like that. There will be no signatures on my leg."

Andrea smiled. "It's not like you'd really be able to stop me. Especially if I have you tied up in restraints."

Miranda's face turned bright red as Andrea realized the double meaning of her words.

"Of course, I'm just teasing. You're lucky they didn't give you neon pink or something."

"True," Miranda said.

They spent the next bit of time discussing the logistics of how Miranda would get into the house. Andrea knew better than to suggest they call Roy, but she was surprised when Miranda asked her to drive the Range Rover and pick her up herself.

Once everything was settled, Andrea left for the evening, with plans to be back at 9:00 AM sharp.

* * *

In the morning, she packed her things into a suitcase and headed to the townhouse. She made a quick trip to the grocery store to pickup basic things like eggs, milk, juice, fresh fruit and vegetables, and then she headed to the garage—located below the first floor, on street level.

She called Claire before she left, and by the time she pulled up at the side entrance, they were wheeling Miranda around towards the entrance. She pulled off to the side and put the car in park as she ran around to help put Miranda's things in the trunk. She was wearing a black sweater and grey lounge pants—something Andrea grabbed from her house at the last minute, and she looked great.

"Hi," Andrea said, "good morning. Front seat okay?"

Miranda nodded as the aide helped her from the wheelchair and onto the crutches. She approached the vehicle, and turned to Andrea. "Lower the car, please."

"Huh?"

"There's a button to the left of the gear shift. It makes it easier to get in and out," she explained.

Andrea quickly climbed around and managed to find the button. Once the car was lowered, Miranda set down her crutches and reached for the handle above the window before sliding into the seat.

"This fucking cast," she muttered under her breath as she lifted her right leg into the car.

"Just think about the workout your glutes are getting!" Andrea said as she tossed the crutches into the back and shut the doors.

"Ah, yes, when it's all over I'll have exactly one half of a perfectly-toned ass," Miranda said.

The two women laughed as Andrea started the car and pressed the button again to raise the car to driving height.

"Andrea," Miranda said, reaching out and grabbing the young woman's wrist as she held the gear shift. "Please drive safely."

"I will."

The ride back was uneventful. Traffic was mild on a Sunday morning, and when they finally pulled into the garage, Andrea took the keys out of the ignition and pressed her forehead to the steering wheel.

"Are you alright?" Miranda asked.

Andrea nodded and got out of the car, getting Miranda's crutches then holding out an arm to help her up. "You know, it would probably be easier if you sat on the driver side next time," she said. "That way your left leg would be first out, and you could balance a little better."

"If you're trying to tell me I'm too heavy for you," Miranda hissed, "it's this damn cast's fault!"

Andrea laughed and helped Miranda get situated on the crutches before making their way towards the stairs. "Can you do it with one crutch?" she asked, gesturing at the railing.

"Yes, here," Miranda said, handing her the errant crutch. Andrea ran upstairs to unlock the door, disabled the alarm system, and leaned the crutch against the wall.

"Hold on," she said, running back down the stairs. "I'm going to walk behind you as you go up. I'd rather you fall forward than take a tumble backwards."

"Such faith in my stair-climbing abilities," Miranda said, rolling her eyes. "I think you just wanted an excuse to watch me exercise my glutes," she said.

Andrea smiled. Was Miranda actually flirting? At first, it was just a casual exchange, but now the woman clearly said… She resisted the urge to put her hands on the woman's hips as she traveled the rest of the way upstairs.

"I need to sit," Miranda said. Andrea could see she was winded, and quickly led her to the recliner in the den, where she waited while Andrea gathered their things from the car. Miranda was starting to fall asleep by the time she returned, and Andrea remembered Claire saying they had given her an additional pain pill as a precaution.

Andrea gently laid her hand on Miranda's shoulder. "Hey, why don't you rest for a while in bed?" she asked.

"Okay," Miranda said. Andrea helped her out of the chair and handed her the crutches. "I hate these," she said.

"The crutches?" Andrea asked. "Would you rather have a walker? A wheelchair? That stupid scooter thing you kneel on?"

"Okay, okay, point taken." She made her way into the living room and stopped just inside the door. "Oh my god," she gasped.

"Think you'll be comfortable in here?"

Miranda nodded and made her way to the bed, sitting down, then scooting back as far as she could go. "Help?"

The young woman gently lifted Miranda's leg and swung it around on to the bed. "I'm going to be in the kitchen. Please don't try to get up on your own yet. Call for me. I have a monitor setup so that I can hear you in the other room if I need."

Miranda nodded and closed her eyes. Andrea draped a light chenille throw over her and headed back to the kitchen to get started preparing some meals for the week.

* * *

All in all, Sunday was uneventful. Miranda got some more practice with the crutches and she was able to get around pretty well by herself, including using the bathroom. Andrea decided to stay upstairs in one of the guest rooms, and she made sure to take the monitor upstairs with her, despite Miranda's insistence that she was not a baby.

Just before dawn, Andrea woke when she heard a loud thud coming from downstairs. She hadn't heard anything on the monitor, so she quickly got out of bed and ran down to see what it was.

She gasped as she entered the bedroom. Miranda was on the floor next to the bed, in tears. Her right leg was tangled in the bedsheets, about ten inches from the floor. She tore the sheets away and gently lowered her leg to the ground.

"Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?" she asked. Miranda just cried, lifting her splinted wrist to cover her face. "Do me a favor, turn onto your backside," Andrea said. She took Miranda's left hand, the one she most likely landed on, and softly pressed her palm, her wrist, her shoulder. When she reached her elbow, Miranda let out a yelp.

"I think you're okay, just a little shaken," she said. "It's going to be awkward to get up from the floor because of your cast, so please let me help," Andrea said. "I'm going to have you sit up, like you're riding a sled or something, and then bend your left leg so your foot is flat on the ground."

She helped Miranda to sit up and waited for her to get her left foot situated.

"Okay, now your weight is going to be on me, and on your left foot. I'm going to stand behind you, and my arms will be linked under yours. Ready? One, two, three, up," she said.

Lifting Miranda from this position was pretty much like lifting dead weight, and she was relieved that it actually worked. She made a mental note to ask the therapist for some other suggestions when he came by this afternoon. Miranda sat against the bed and hung her head, avoiding eye contact with the young woman.

"Miranda, look, I don't know what's going through your mind, but I'd guess it's something like embarrassment or helplessness. Please know that I am not judging you, that I'm here to help." She sat next to Miranda and draped her arm over her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. She softly pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and the woman laid her head on Andrea's shoulder. "Why didn't you call for me?"

"I wanted to do it myself," she said quietly. "I—I turned off the monitor."

Andrea fought the urge to scream at her. "It could have been hours before I found you. And what if you had smashed your head against the nightstand?"

Miranda started crying again, and Andrea instantly regretted opening her mouth at all.

"Shh, it's okay. You're okay, you're safe," she said while gently rocking the woman back and forth. She never imagined she'd be here, in Miranda's home, holding her while she cried. Two weeks ago they were practically strangers, and now they were…whatever they were.

"Can I help you to the bathroom?" Andrea asked quietly. Miranda nodded, so she helped the woman up, and totally bypassed the crutches, instead letting Miranda hold on to her as she hobbled down the hall.

"My room has an en suite. It would have been easier," she said when she came out. Andrea could see that she had brushed her teeth and put a bit of makeup on as well—all signs that her spirits were improving.

"Well, then I would have had to install a baby gate at the top of the stairs," Andrea said with a smile.

"You are terrible," Miranda said. "Now, help me back to bed and fix those sheets."

Andrea smiled and did just that, making sure Miranda watched her turn the monitor back on and place it out of reach before she left.

The next few days went similarly, but without any major incidents. They spent hours in the evening catching up and getting to know one another better, and during the day, Miranda always had a steady flow of visitors—nurses, physical therapists, nutritionists, and then there was Melanie Brooks, her _therapy_ therapist.

When Melanie came, they met in the den and Andrea excused herself upstairs to the guest room. Once she left, Andrea ventured downstairs and found that Miranda hadn't moved from her spot.

"Everything alright?" Andrea asked, sitting next to Miranda on the sofa.

The older woman leaned over and laid her head on Andrea's shoulder. "Melanie says I need to talk about it more. So, I'll start by telling you what I remember from the coma."

The woman snuggled closer, so Andrea draped her arm over her shoulders.

"I told you how I felt you there—I could hear your voice and all. Well, I also felt when you weren't there. I would hear the monitors or doctors hushed voices. In my mind, I was running through a dark forest. I kept stumbling. I didn't know if I was running towards something or running away. I was exhausted, but I just kept running aimlessly.

"But when you were there, and I heard your voice, we were sitting in the middle of a meadow. I could see you, and it was sunny out so sometimes I had to squint. It was like you were gradually coming closer, and then you had your arms around me. We were just sitting there, and whatever you were saying, I was answering you. And I just felt so…warm. Peaceful."

"Thanks for sharing that," Andrea said. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I didn't really remember it—not until the other night when you hugged me." They sat in silence for a few minutes before Miranda spoke up again. "I am starting to remember parts of the accident."

Andrea turned and looked at her. "Really?"

She nodded. "Melanie thinks it will help if I talk about it with you—that maybe you'll share some details that will trigger my memory." She paused for a moment. "That is, if you're comfortable talking about it."

"Of course," Andrea said. She spent the next half hour recounting the entire sequence of events, from her perspective. She was careful not to project anything onto what Miranda may or may not remember, in hopes that she would be able to fill in the blanks on her own.

"Will you tell me why you came up to me at LaGuardia in the first place?" Miranda asked.

She sighed. "Some teenage idiots were laughing about what they referred to as an 'old lady' who looked lost. It was cold out, and I have a soft spot for elderly folks, so I went to help her. When I realized it was you, I think I was also trying to save you some embarrassment," she said.

"A soft spot? For the old lady?" Miranda said, rolling her eyes.

"Come on. I didn't know it was you right away. You had that scarf tied around your head like a babushka!"

"Oh, my Burberry scarf—what happened to the clothes I was wearing, do you know? The hospital only had my coat and jewelry," Miranda said.

"The scarf was soaked in blood. They had to cut your clothes off of you in the emergency room," Andrea said.

"Oh."

"You know, I remember being kind of pissed that you and Roy were chit-chatting," Miranda said.

Andrea stiffened and sat up, as if physically bracing herself to be on the receiving end of the blame for the accident once again.

"No, I wasn't upset that you were distracting him or anything. I think it was a bit of jealousy. You two were so friendly and casual with each other, and you knew so much about each others' lives. I just tuned you out and stared out the window."

Miranda quickly turned to face the young woman. "I saw it—in the window. It was a large truck—a Chevrolet, I think. It was speeding at us and we were frozen. You—you grabbed me." Miranda reached out and took Andrea's hand. "I think I would have had more than a sprained wrist had you not."

"Do you remember anything else? The ambulance or anything?"

"No. It's all a blank until I woke up from surgery," Miranda said.

"The first time?"

"Yes. Otherwise known as the time I was in so much pain I vomited on myself."

Andrea cracked a smile.

"I know I should apologize for screaming at you to get out, but can you imagine how humiliating that was? And I hadn't seen you in three years, and the last time we really talked, you quit your job and left," she said.

"I understand, really. I was nervous when I came back to visit, though. I waited until you were sufficiently medicated. You were all smiles and thank-yous and told me to call you 'Auntie Miranda,'" she said with a giggle.

"Oh lord."

Andrea smiled. "I'm going to go get dinner ready," she said. "Can I bring you anything?"

"Just my crutches. I'm going to go rest in my room for a bit," she said.

Andrea nodded and helped the woman up before making her way to the kitchen.

In her room, Miranda shut the door and sat in the oversized chair. She wasn't being entirely truthful with Andrea. She remembered Andrea shouting "do not die on me!" in the car, and while she was in the coma, she remembered Andrea saying she loved her before they hugged in the meadow. That likely corresponded with her visit on Thursday, and Melanie suggested she ask more questions about that day in particular in hopes of validating her memory.

"How would you react if she had said that?" Melanie had asked.

Miranda wasn't sure. Though she admittedly had been playfully teasing the young woman, she didn't know if she would ever be ready for it to be more than that. Melanie reminded her that Andrea may not want more.

Something told Miranda otherwise.

.

.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

=== Part Four ===

After dinner that evening, Miranda took her pain medication plus an extra pill, then went to bed early. She told Andrea that she had an exhausting day, and the young woman didn't question her.

At some point in the middle of the night, Andrea woke to Miranda's screams on the monitor. She rushed downstairs and tried to wake the woman, turning the bedside light as well.

"Miranda, it's just a dream," she said as she shook the woman's shoulder. "Wake up, it's okay."

The editor turned onto her back, but continued tossing her head side to side. "No, no. No!" she shouted, her eyes tightly closed.

Andrea firmly grasped her hand and cupped her cheek. "Hey…hey, wake up."

Slowly, Miranda responded and her eyes opened. "Andrea," she gasped, reaching up and touching her cheek. She closed her eyes and turned away as she struggled to catch her breath.

Andrea sat on the edge of the bed and softly rubbed her back, trying to calm and comfort her much like a mother would a child. After a few minutes, Miranda sat up and fluffed the pillows before leaning against the headboard.

"Bad dream?" Andrea asked.

"Horrible."

"The accident?"

"Mm-hm."

"Want to talk ab—"

"No." she responded quickly.

"Can I get you a glass of water?"

Miranda shook her head. "My heart is still racing."

"Want me to sit here a while with you?"

Miranda looked up sheepishly and nodded.

Andrea smiled and walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed up. She rearranged the pillows and laid back against the headboard next to the other woman.

Miranda looked over at the woman, wearing a ribbed cotton tank and boxer shorts. "Aren't you cold?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, kind of."

"Warmer under the covers than on top, you know."

"Oh, right," she said, scooting over and slipping under the warm comforter after having been invited.

"Better?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Not really."

"Wanna talk?"

"No. Stop asking."

"You know, I remember when I was a little gi—"

"Stop talking!" After a few seconds of silence, she whispered, "I'm sorry. Will you just stay here with me until I fall asleep?"

"Of course," Andrea said. She wondered what kind of nightmare about the accident could have terrified the woman in such a way.

* * *

The next morning, Miranda woke and gasped before she realized it was Andrea sleeping next to her. The young brunette opened her eyes and had a similar reaction, quickly crawling out of bed.

"I'm so sorry, Miranda, I didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"It's okay. I was just surprised to find—it's really been a while since anyone has shared this bed," she said, turning away to hide the slight blush.

"Let me help you to the bathroom, then I'll put some coffee on and run upstairs to get some clothes on," she said.

Later that night, after dinner, and after watching a movie, Andrea helped Miranda to get ready for bed. She wanted to take a shower, so Andrea helped her slip the plastic sleeve over her cast while Miranda taped it closed at the top of her thigh. While she didn't need help in the shower, Andrea felt it necessary to remain outside the bathroom just in case she were to slip or need assistance.

Once Miranda was safely out of the shower and she heard the hair dryer on, Andrea ran upstairs to take her own shower. It wasn't a hair wash day, so she was in and out, and back downstairs in her cotton jersey pajama pants and a clean ribbed tank before Miranda knew she was gone.

By the time the editor finally emerged from the bathroom, Andrea had fallen asleep on the stairs.

"Andrea," she whispered, "go to bed."

The young woman jumped up to help Miranda, but she had to admit, the woman's crutch-hobbling skills had significantly improved over the past week. Still, Andrea followed her, helped her into bed, and turned out the light.

"You should probably just stay in here," Miranda said. She was grateful for the cover of darkness, otherwise the young woman would have seen the rising blush in her cheeks.

"Really?"

"Yes. I might have another nightmare, you know."

Andrea grinned. "Okay, so I can just grab a blanket for the chaise here—"

"Oh, uh, whatever you prefer. It's probably more comfortable up here, though."

"Sure, let me just turn out the lights and set the alarm," she said. She returned in a few minutes and crawled into the other side of the bed, a good distance from Miranda—not nearly as close as she was the previous night.

"Andrea? Are you awake?" Miranda asked. She had been staring at the ceiling for nearly thirty minutes.

"Not really, do you need something?"

"What did you talk to me about when I was in the coma for three whole days?"

"Well it's not like I was there the whole time," she said.

Miranda sighed. "Fine, so you were there for eight hours each day, a total of twenty-four hours. What on earth did you have to say to me?"

"I don't know. I just talked," she said. She was feeling a little uncomfortable with this line of questioning.

"About what? Give me an example."

"Why now, all of a sudden? It's past midnight. I was almost asleep."

"I was just thinking how terribly rude it was of me to not respond," Miranda said.

"Are you serious?"

"Perfectly."

"You were _unresponsive,_ Miranda. I knew you wouldn't respond."

"But what if I did—or I could? What kinds of things did you say that unresponsive me might have liked to comment on?"

"Miranda, go to sleep. I'll tell you in the morning." Andrea pulled the covers over her head.

"Now you're just being rude. Why won't you tell me? Did you forget?"

Andrea groaned and flopped onto her back. "If you're always like this at night, I can see why you're accustomed to sleeping alone."

There was a pause before the woman responded. "Andrea, I expected more of you," she said, all playfulness gone from her voice.

"You know how sometimes you say things when you think someone isn't listening? Or you're worried you'll never speak to them again? When you think it's your last chance to say something?" Andrea said. "That was how I felt when you were in the coma."

"But surely the doctors informed you that I was doing okay—getting better, in fact?"

"Yeah, they did."

"I don't understand."

"I was worried what would happen when you woke up. The first few days, I told you about my life, I complained about some coworkers, I read you some really funny blog posts. I told you a little about how working for you had really change my life and made me a better person. I apologized for leaving you in Paris. You know, just stuff that I was always too scared to say to your face," she said.

"What about after that?" Miranda asked.

"With all the talk about waking you up the next morning, I was terrified that you would be furious at me. I mean, really, I was like some crazy person—have you seen the movie _While You Were Sleeping_? Never mind, bad comparison. But I basically just inserted myself into your life, your extremely personal and well-guarded life, and entirely without permission. I mean I really thought you might have me arrested."

"Well, if it were anyone else, I just might have. But not you. What would you say if I told you that as I'm recalling more about the accident and the coma, I distinctly remember some sort of turning point? Something that changed the scene in my head not long before I woke?"

Andrea swallowed hard. "Um… I don't know."

"I think you do. I don't think I ever made out any of the words that you spoke, but during the first few days, in my peaceful, sunny meadow, you and I were apart. We were still in the same space, but farther than arm's reach. Then suddenly one day, we walked towards one another. I felt your hand on my cheek, and I reached for yours. You wrapped your arm around me and I felt safe…and loved," she said.

Miranda softly turned to her side. "Come closer," she said. "Closer." When the young woman was just a short distance away, Miranda reached her arm across her waist and laid her head on her shoulder. "Is this okay?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Andrea," she began, "Let me be honest. I don't know where this is headed. I can't be entirely certain that it's not just a symptom of my overall insecurity and anxiety after what's happened. I won't make any promises—not right now—because I don't know whether I can keep them."

"Miranda, please, stop," Andrea said. "I have loved getting to know you better these past few weeks. I do apologize for inviting myself into your life, but I am so glad I did. While I knew Miranda the Editor was a fantastic human being, I didn't know much about Miranda the Mom, the Friend, the person who loves croutons but won't eat bread crust. I am so grateful to get to know that person, and I totally consider you a friend," she said. "If we don't see much of each other once you've recovered—which I think will be very soon—then it's okay."

"Andrea. Stop. Stop," she said. She reached for the young woman's hand and squeezed it tightly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves and just enjoy this time together. I think we both know how quickly life can change."

"Okay."

"Good. You know, I care about you, a great deal. No matter how much pain I was in or how confused I was from the medication, I would have never been furious or had you arrested. Now, goodnight, honey."

Andrea smiled at the endearment. "Goodnight," she said, pressing a kiss to the top of the woman's head. "Sweet dreams only, tonight."

"You can be sure of that," Miranda replied.

* * *

Over the next few days, as Miranda gradually reduced her pain medication, she realized that she would need to start thinking about going back to work. It was wonderful to be so blissfully ignorant of the world around her, and she was entirely grateful to Andrea for allowing her to recuperate in such an atmosphere.

She had a doctor appointment scheduled for Friday, at which point they would remove her cast, take an x-ray of her leg, and possibly replace it with a new, slimmer, shorter cast. Andrea needed to return to work on Monday, and Miranda decided it was time for her to get back in the game as well.

Neither were looking forward to saying their goodbyes on Sunday night, that was for sure.

On Thursday, when Andrea was making arrangements for Miranda's appointment the following day, there was a knock on the front door. Miranda was busy showing the movers where to move the furniture in her bedroom, now that it had been relocated to its original spot upstairs, so Andrea ran to the door and was shocked to see Roy standing there, dressed in plain clothes.

"Hey, how are you?" she asked. She reached out and gave him a hug, but pulled away when he didn't return the gesture. "Is everything okay?"

"I, uh, wanted to give this to Miranda. Is she around?" he asked. "I can come back another time if she's resting—"

"Don't be silly, come in. Help yourself to a cup of coffee or tea in the kitchen, and I'll go grab Miranda," she said.

Roy slowly made his way to the kitchen and took a seat at the table before pulling out an unmarked white envelope and setting it on the table.

Upstairs, Andrea met the editor in the hallway. "Who was at the door?"

"Roy. He's in the kitchen now, and he wants to see you." She watched the older woman's face grow pale.

"Did he say why?"

"No clue. He's not in uniform or anything." She took Miranda's arm and pulled her aside. "Are you okay with this? I can send him away and tell him you're busy."

Miranda shook her head and made her way down the stairs, without any assistance.

"Show off," Andrea whispered, following behind her.

"Miranda," he said, standing from his chair to meet her as she entered the kitchen.

"Good afternoon. What is the occasion?" she asked rather coldly.

"I, uh, wanted to see how you were doing, and um, to give you this," he said, handing her the envelope. "I better be going…"

"Roy, wait—" she said, her eyes scanning the handwritten note. "A resignation?"

"Miranda, I can't continue to drive you and your family. I feel terrible, just terrible." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes. "I'll be going now," he added as he made his way to the front door. "You two take care."

Miranda sank into the chair and dropped the letter on the table. "He's been my driver for twenty-four years," she said. "Do you think this was because of the accident?"

Andrea sighed. "I would guess it is entirely because of the accident. If you ask me, he seems to be carrying around a lot of guilt." Maybe this is what he needed to do to move forward, she thought. Right after realizing she would need to drive Miranda to the doctor again in the morning.

"I don't know if I like the idea of a stranger driving me around. Roy was like family," Miranda said. "It wasn't his fault. It was an _accident_ ," she said.

Andrea waited a few moments for Miranda to connect the dots, but eventually spoke up. "Maybe he needs to hear that from you," she said.

Miranda sighed and realized the young woman was probably right. "I will call him tomorrow. If he still wishes to retire, so be it."

Later that night, Miranda was happily tucked away in bed in her own room. Once again, Andrea slept next to her, and once again, she slept peacefully without any nightmares.

In the morning, Andrea drove her to see her orthopedic surgeon who had evaluated her leg and would now be removing her cast.

She was thrilled to be able to move her leg and bend her knee, but there was still a bit of pain when she tried to put pressure on it. The office tech did some imaging, then gave Miranda the option of a rigid hinged leg brace, at which her jaw nearly dropped.

"You think that awful contraption is better than the cast?"

"First, it's removable, so you don't have to wear it at night or when you bathe," he explained. "But also, it's made out of titanium, so it's really lightweight, and it's designed to be worn over your pants, so you wouldn't have to worry about finding something to fit over it."

"What are my other options? I thought you indicated something about a shorter cast?"

"The tendons around your knee haven't healed as quickly as we were hoping, so you'll need support there. It's this or a new cast," he said. "We did just get the pink and purple camouflage tape in stock—it glows in the dark."

At that comment, Andrea laughed out loud. "Miranda, I would pay to see you in that cast. Please choose that."

"Most certainly not. We'll go with the rigid hinged whatever," she said, waving her hands. She was hoping no one caught her pronoun usage, but of course, Andrea was too quick.

"Wise choice," she said after the tech left the room. "I think 'we' will be more comfortable tonight." She winked at the woman just as he was returning through the door.

"Got a smaller size for you. Here," he said, guiding Miranda's leg into the mechanism. "It locks here. You always want this aligned with the kneecap, and this should hit you mid-shin. To release, you just press here and here, and you're good. Try walking around in it," he said.

He helped Miranda off the exam table and held his arm out while she walked around the room. She was surprised at how comfortable it was, and she hardly needed help balancing—certainly no need for crutches.

"You'll need to wear this for the next six weeks, full time for the first four, again with the exception of sleeping and showering. After that, you should really only need it if you're walking or standing for extended periods of time," he added. "Any questions?"

"Does this come in pink and purple glow-in-the-dark camouflage, too?" Andrea said.

"Oh, shut up. Don't listen to her," Miranda said. "Thank you, I don't have any questions."

Later that evening, Miranda went to bed early. Between the doctor's visit and her physical therapy session afterwards, she needed some pain medication and rest. Andrea used the time to catch up on her work email in the guest room. As she was nearing the bottom of her inbox, she heard a scream and quickly rushed into the woman's bedroom.

Miranda was on her back, her hand covering her eyes as her heart raced. Andrea approached, quietly announcing her presence. "You okay?"

"Yes," she said. "I just can't get those headlights out of my mind."

"You need a change of scenery. How about a nice hot bath?" At that, Miranda's ears perked up. "I'll go turn the water on, then I'll help you up."

When she returned, Miranda was patiently waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed. Andrea held out her arm and helped her down. Her right leg was still very weak from being immobilized, and she was rightfully hesitant to put a lot of weight on it.

Andrea somehow managed to help Miranda into the bathtub while she had her eyes shut, although Miranda's moan of pleasure once surrounded by the fragrant bubbles was enough to make both of their cheeks turn pink.

"Andrea, can you bring me my phone? I have to call the girls."

The young woman returned with the phone, and a glass of sparkling water.

"A glass of wine would be superb right now," she said, looking up at the young woman, doing her best impression of a puppy dog.

"Sorry, you chose the pain medication," she said with a shrug.

"Oh, right."

"I'm going to shut the door so it stays nice and warm in here. Let me know when you're ready and I'll help you out."

Andrea could hear the hushed tones of Miranda's voice on the phone, but couldn't make out exactly what she was saying. She heard the water turn on twice, likely to reheat the bath water, and just as she was about to fall asleep, she heard Miranda call her name.

The young woman helped her out and onto the bath mat, and within a few minutes, she emerged from the bathroom in her silk pajamas and melted into the bed.

"That felt so good," she said while Andrea climbed into the bed from the other side. "The girls are going to stay in Park City until Spring Break. It's just a few more weeks, and it will make more sense. I'm not going to be much use to them next week, especially since I'll probably have to spend all day and all night fixing whatever happened while I was gone. Do you realize they planned an entire issue without my input?"

"Wow."

"I am willing to bet that Jocelyn stepped up. She's really come a long way," Miranda said. "I also talked to Roy. He'll be back on Monday morning."

"Seriously?" Andrea asked.

"Yes. I simply told him to get over his guilt, that they're called _accidents_ for a reason, and that I didn't trust anyone else to drive my family," she said.

"Is that true?"

"Mostly." They lay in silence for a little while before Miranda turned to her side and snuggled against the young woman. She let out a tiny gasp as she felt her leg pressed against the other woman's. "Much more comfortable without the cast," she said.

Andrea nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of Miranda's head. "Goodnight," she said.

As was becoming ritual, about thirty minutes later, Miranda whispered, "Are you asleep?"

"Not anymore. Why?"

"Will you give me your phone number tomorrow? So I can call you or text you? It just occurred to me that I don't have it," she said.

Andrea chuckled. "Sure, of course. As long as you don't call me at all hours of the night and ask if I'm asleep."

"Oh, please. I would never do such a thing," she said.

A few minutes went by.

"Andrea?"

"Huh?"

"Do you love me?"

She could feel that the woman next to her was holding her breath. Being that it was the middle of the night and she didn't want to start an argument or series of questions, she answered as simply as she could: "Yes."

" _Love_ love? Or feeling sorry for the poor old lady love?"

Andrea laughed. "And to think that _you_ called _me_ a 'chatterbox!'"

"I don't find this funny, Andrea," she said, pulling away and looking up at the young woman.

"Miranda. I love you," she said. She softly brushed the woman's cheek as she kissed her forehead, then her temple.

The older woman was flooded with such memories of peacefulness and warmth, she buried her nose in Andrea's neck and inhaled deeply.

"I love you, too," she said, pulling back to gaze at the young woman. Her eyes darted from the woman's eyes to her lips, then back again. She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, then tucked her head back safely on her chest.

"Goodnight, Andrea."

* * *

The rest of the weekend was spent casually enjoying their newly-confessed feelings. Andrea wasn't surprised that saying the words aloud didn't really change anything about their immediate relationship.

On Sunday night, neither woman slept well, but they both had to rejoin the working world and move on with their lives. Andrea came by the townhouse several nights during the week, and if they hadn't seen each other, Miranda would call in the middle of the night just to hear her voice.

Though the girls were still in Utah, Cara came back to work, and it certainly helped as she was still wearing her brace.

Miranda's nightmares returned, and at one point during the week, she had to ask Roy to pull over so she could get out of the car because she was having an anxiety attack.

There were days when Andrea didn't hear from the woman, and at one point a day turned into a few days, into a week. Out of concern, she came over to the townhouse uninvited and met a glassy-eyed woman sitting in her recliner, staring off into space. She helped her to bed and laid with her for a while, until she revealed that she hadn't been coping with the accident well at all. Her therapist prescribed some mood stabilizers, but they were all stabilizer, no mood.

The girls came home during Spring Break, and that helped brighten her spirits, but it wasn't until Andrea showed up with her suitcase and announced that she would be staying at the townhouse temporarily that Miranda's spirits truly lifted. She knew the woman would never ask much of her, so Andrea talked to the girls and concocted a story about why she needed to evacuate her apartment.

Caroline and Cassidy understood right away, and they were fully supportive. In fact, Caroline was trying to think of reasons why the only bedroom in the house Andy could use was her mom's.

One night, when the girls were spending the night at a friend's house, Miranda was snuggled against Andrea on the bed, each working on their own computer. The editor closed hers and took off her reading glasses, and Andrea put hers aside as well.

"Do you still love me?" Miranda asked.

"Of course I do."

"Because you have to take care of me?" she asked.

"No. The other way around. I take care of you because I love you."

Miranda curled up against the young woman and began pressing kisses along her neck—some soft and gentle, others rough and devouring. She trailed her kisses upwards along the woman's jaw until she reached her mouth and they firmly locked lips in a passionate embrace. They parted for air and the editor looked up into the other woman's eyes dreamily.

"Is that all you've got? To think you didn't even get to see my glow-in-the-dark bra," the young woman teased.

"Oh, I so should have had you arrested when I had the chance," Miranda said, pinning her against the pillows. "You're mine, now."

"Always," Andrea said breathlessly.

.

.

The end.

* * *

Note: I'm humbled by the reviews on this work. I started it in 2013, and as some have noted, it's by no means a unique topic. Once I realized there was no way I could come close to something like "It's All Relative" or "Miranda Priestly: Indisposed" or any of the other numerous-and brilliant-fics that have Miranda in a hospital bed, I sort of gave up. But, it's 2016 now and my resolution is to finish what I start, and that begins with some unfinished Mirandy fics. They're unbeta'd, and I realize the ending seems a bit rushed, but it's finished. :) xo


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